


The Gred to his Forge

by KlainebowsAndDramioneflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Death, Depressing, Depression, Gen, Loss, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:53:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3932395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KlainebowsAndDramioneflies/pseuds/KlainebowsAndDramioneflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wrote this back in December of 2011, but I'm still damn proud of it, so I thought I'd post it here. I hope you... well, not /enjoy/ it but, I hope it strikes a chord with you. WARNING: This is VERY dark. Heed the tags and warnings, please!</p><p>How can he live as half of a whole that will never be? This story delves into the life of George Weasley, exploring his pain and sorrow over the loss of his twin nearly two years ago. One-shot, follows books with ending, very sad and dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gred to his Forge

**Title** : The Gred to his Forge

 **Fandom** : Harry Potter

 **Rating** : T+

 **Character(s):**  George Weasley, (Fred Weasley)

 **Plot Summary** : How can he live as half of a whole that will never be? This story delves into the life of George Weasley, exploring his pain and sorrow over the loss of his twin nearly two years ago. One-shot, follows books with ending, very sad and dark. T+ for self-harm via emotional and physical abuse and dark atmosphere.

* * *

What do you do when the magic fades? When the things that made you happy in life are the things that make you so sad? What do you do when you wake up each day and can't even look in the mirror? What do you do when you can't move on, but it's killing you to stay where you are?

Questions fill George's head every waking moment. Questions of what he can possibly do and how he can possibly get through the rest of his life without his brother. Fred was his other half. Fred was his carbon copy, his partner in crime, his inspiration. How could he live without that crucial piece to the puzzle that was his life?

He woke up as he did most every morning, cold and shaken from the nightmares that plagued his sleep. Stumbling in the dark bedroom, George made his way to the bathroom where he turned on the hot water before flicking the switch for the light. This way, everything was fogged up with the steam before he even focused his eyes. He turned the cold on and flipped the knob for the shower, stepping in before the heat could circulate through the pipe. The cold spray shocked him awake and made him wince, but it took away the thoughts he was sinking into.

He shampooed his red hair that was growing rather long and stood up in awkward places, then washed his body, pointedly ignoring the stub he felt when he brushed over his missing ear. He didn't like to think about it. It just wasn't funny without Fred.

When he'd finished his shower and gotten soap in one eye, he dried quickly and wandered to his closet with his right eye squeezed shut. He cursed and rubbed it, but it still stung and he felt like a fool as it began to water. Sometimes George wondered if he could even call himself a man anymore, the amount that he cried.

He glanced at the calendar to check his schedule for the day and instantly wished he hadn't. April first, two-thousand rested there, untouched and waiting for the red marker at the end of the day. This would be his second birthday without Fred. No wonder the nightmares were so bad the night before. This day used to be one of great celebration. It used to be a joke between him and his brother; their being born on April Fool's Day. They had a huge sale at the joke shop and celebrated their lives by pulling pranks on most everyone they knew.

All of that had ended in '98, when Voldemort was closing in and they were too busy worrying about real fear to scare anyone for fun. If George had known that would be the last birthday he'd spend with his brother, he would have forced everyone to celebrate. He would have made them all take a break from real life and pretend there was still something to joke about. Because there was still something to joke about when Fred was still alive.

George dressed in jeans and a t-shirt from the Chudley Cannons that Ron had bought him last Christmas. In the past, he would have adorned himself in silly colors and obnoxious robes, and he and Fred would have walked around pompously for the world to appreciate them. Somehow, twenty-two didn't feel as great as he'd imagined it would, just like twenty-one felt like hell rather than a stepping stone into 'real life.' He shook his head and used his wand to mostly dry his hair before it soaked his back from dripping, then laced his trainers and made his way down the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs hung a mirror, and there was no way for George to avoid his reflection all day anyway. He needed to be sure he looked decent. His eyes locked on those of his reflection and he felt the familiar choking feeling that occurred every time he saw himself. He felt his heart break again, as it did every day when he came down these stairs. It must be in a thousand pieces by now. He could never be healed the heartache that he felt. It was much too strong.

George was frozen on the third-from-last step, staring at himself but seeing no one but Fred. Those eyes were so familiar. They'd always said looking at each other was like looking in a mirror. George never thought he'd meant it so literally, but now he understood. He turned his head slightly, to avoid the stub that was left in place of his ear, and the picture was clear as anything. There was Fred. His hair stood up in some places, and George laughed. "You need a haircut, brother," and he knew that if one needed a trim, they both did. Usually he could contain himself, convince himself that his brother was not really there, but today he just couldn't. He wouldn't. He needed Fred today, and he didn't care how insane that might make him.

"I see you got Ron's present, too," he said in a voice that cracked and faltered. He shook his head and 'Fred' shook his back. "You know I miss you, right?" he asked, thinking about how true the statement was. His voice cracked again and he choked back a noise that was something like a wounded animal's cry. "I can't do it anymore, Fred." He stumbled forward and grabbed the mirror, pulling it down with him as he sat on the floor and trembled with the tears that fell freely down his freckled cheeks.

As he looked down into the mirror, the missing ear filled itself in and the eyes became brighter, like they used to be when they were Fred's. When he still lived. "Merlin," he muttered, "I'm losing it." The lips in the mirror seemed not to move and he just stared with clouded eyes. What he wouldn't give for Fred to really be there. In the mirror, hiding under the bed, in the closet. George didn't care where. He just wanted his brother back. He just wanted that part of himself! "Dammit, Fred!" he shouted, and the image returned to normal. George stared at himself, yelling, "I need you! Why did you leave me? I can't do this, damn you!" He cried out in anguish, in pain, in sadness and desperation. He shrieked with all the emotions that he could never get rid of. "What do you want from me? You were everything. Everything! How can I go on if this is all that's left? Don't you see? I'm losing it! I can't deal with losing you!"

He threw the mirror away from him and leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as his body shook with each heart-wrenching sob. The mirror had broken, but George could still see his face staring back at him. The face he would never see outside of a mirror again. The face he was so used to seeing for so long. Two years. It had been almost two years since Fred had fallen and not gotten up. George still couldn't deal with it after two whole years. What would he do if he had to live like this forever? "You are shit, George Weasley," he muttered, "Absolute shit." He laced his fingers through his hair and tightened them, tugging on the red locks until his scalp was numb. How pathetic was he that he couldn't even survive without Fred? What would his brother say if he saw how weak George really was?

"He'd hate you, that's what," George spat at himself, opening his eyes and staring at the shattered mirror on his floor. It didn't matter how much he knew that he was disappointing his twin, or how stupid he knew he was being. George felt like he'd never be able to live through all of this, and somehow he just knew he was right. "I can't even look at myself anymore without freaking out. I hear your voice when I talk. I see your face when I try to look at mine. I can't even look at the pictures mum has of us anymore…" he stopped mumbling and focused on the broken mirror again. "I can't live without you, Fred," he said simply, crawling toward the shards. "I can't be where you aren't."

George grasped one piece of the mirror in each hand. He stared into the larger piece, seeing half his face. That was all that he was without Fred. All that Fred must be without him. "Don't worry, Gred, your Forge is coming home," he whispered, and his other hand reached up and shoved the piece of mirror into his neck, pulling it about halfway across before he lost the strength to do any more. He fell to the floor with a sad smile on his face, already drowning in his own blood.

The family found him later that day, when he hadn't shown up for his own birthday dinner. They thought he might be playing a prank, like he used to when Fred was alive. They were shocked when they found him. They lay him beside his twin in the family plot, where he and his twin could be whole once more.


End file.
